Paper Football
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: AU Castiel is an english teacher, marking his papers outside so he can watch Coach Winchester at work. One paper proves too intesting to pass over. Because all I did while  was down was write porn.
1. Chapter 1

_Why , why are you not online? I write this porn in mourning, and because listening to Pink in Destiel videos apparently brings it out of me. _

Castiel sits, grading twelfth grade papers on the bleachers by the football field, despairing over the failure of his latest class to grasp the apostrophe. At least, he was, now he's sitting, pen in hand and bundle of papers fluttering on his knees, because the reason he's chosen to mark outside has just strolled onto the pitch.

Dean Winchester, football coach and latest member of staff to join their ranks.

Greek God incarnate.

Castiel huddles against the wind, trench coat fanning in the gust of cold air sent down by the grey, repellent sky. Down below Dean is bellowing at the players as they assemble on the field in full gear, he blows his whistle and they run off to get into formation for a drill. Castiel watches the couch sprint after them, yelling at those who can't match his pace to 'Pick it up or go back to the locker room!'

Dean follows the boys as they go in and out of the line up, running the ball up and down the pitch in a training exercise. He's expending twice as much effort as any player, running to and from the goal line and shouting advice and criticism between whistle blasts. He's in black fleece track pants and a hooded sweater, and despite the cold air he must be sweltering, at one point he even drops to the ground beside a player being punished for lateness with a set of push up's, jack-knifing up and down faster than the younger boy.

Dean jumps to his feet and happens to look up into the stands, straight at Castiel. He ducks his head back to his marking hastily trying to look like he's doing something, anything, but stare at Dean Winchester. He licks his dry lips unconsciously and gives Polly Brown a B+ she really doesn't deserve, just to move his hand, and flips to the next paper, reading intently.

The next story is actually kind of good, which makes it all the worse, because though it starts off with a fairly benign school setting, he can only describe it as pure, adolescent filth.

_I left my gym bag behind on purpose so that I could go back into the locker room, and there he was, still standing under the flow of the showers, too shy to wash beside the rest of us. He had no idea how much I wanted to see him without his gym uniform, without the baggy black pants and loose shirts he always wore. I didn't know if that would make him more or less reluctant to strip off beside me. _

Castiel drummed his pen against his thigh, watching Dean pelt along beside one of the new recruits to the team, throwing the ball back and forth to practice precision and aim. He'd taken off his hooded sweater, revealing the plain V-necked T-shirt underneath, white cotton probably already damp with sweat. Castiel nips at the rough skin of his lip nervously, and returns to the puerile nonsense in his lap, really hoping that it isn't about to go where it appears to be headed.

_He always smelt like the same cheap white soap, and that smell filled up the showers and got to me as I watched him. He had no idea I was there, watching from the lockers, as he soaped himself up and sighed though the steam, easing the aches of a hard hour's training. His hands touched his body innocently, far more so than I would if I were beneath those searing jets. I saw him trail a hand over the soft dark hair on his flat stomach, and I felt my cock..._

Castiel flushes and flips over the page, determined to just fail the student and start on a different paper. And maybe throw out his K-mart soap, knowing that the cheap product would now remind him of this.

His eyes flick back to Dean just as the coach lifts his arms and wriggles out of his shirt, chest flushed and sweaty from his work, fleece workout pants hanging so low on his hips that Castiel can see the jut of the bone in contrast to the musculature of the rest of him. Heavy and thick with muscle and tanned from a summer of running outside beside his players.

Castiel swallows and looks back down at the paper in his lap.

_...harden against my thigh, thinking about him, a damp spot already on my underwear from watching him at practice. I'd been hard, aching, the whole time, barely able to look away from him even though he wasn't playing, just standing in his position. As he turned under the water I could see his cock resting there, soft and wet and surrounded by damp, dark hair. I wondered what it would feel like in my mouth, slowly growing hard and thick. What he would taste like..._

"And you will do it again, until I'm satisfied!" Dean yells, startling Castiel and making him clutch at the stack of papers that he was about to let slither to the ground. Dean is yelling at one of the players, pointing him back out to where the others are running laps. Castiel watches his chest heave in exertion and anger, soft brown hair spiked with sweat and strong fists curled furiously. The sight, combined with the words he's been reading illicitly, out here in the open, albeit empty, stands, cause his own cock to twitch, growing slightly plumper with blood even as he hisses through his teeth in discomfort. But he's unable to avoid reading more of the story in his lap, it draws him back despite his common sense.

..._What he would sound like as I sucked him down. If I tried to touch him, to bend him to his knees on the wet tile floor, soaked and slicked with hot water and the lather of K-mart soap, would he fight me? Squirm underneath me, begging me to let him go...or would he like it, like the feel of my wet chest on his back, open his legs wide for me and beg me to fill him, stretch him and ride him hard into the floor?..._

It's terribly written and obscene and yet Castiel squirms on the hard wooden seat, hand resting under the papers slightly and pressing the heel of his palm against the aching erection that's pressed to his leg by the seam of his slacks. It relives a little of the pressure, but it aches somehow more once he releases it, and he can feel the dampness of pre-come against his underwear, a steady frustrated throb in his groin.

"You're not giving it your best!" Dean's voice seems to come from a great distance. "Try harder or fuck off back to the locker room!"

Castiel massages the aching bulge pressed against the seam of his pants one handed, his other hand holding the papers over his groin as camouflage. A distant part of his brain is screaming that this is crazy, he could get fired for fucks sake, jerking off over the students football practice. But all his nerve endings are clamouring for release, and he's inclined, high brain functions having shut down, to give it to them.

_He turns around, opening his eyes and blinking back water. He sees me, and for a second I feel cold with that discovery, shamed and shocked to have been caught out, hand unconsciously palming my cock and watching him, naked and wet. _

Castiel reads the words and his gaze flicks to Dean, currently watching a play, arms crossed over his chest, a whimper catches in Castiel's throat as he rubs himself a little harder.

_He looks at me, and I can't help but move towards him, he reaches out to me and pulls me under the jets, tugging off my shirt as the water soaks it, fingers brushing my nipples and mouth so close to mine._

"_I thought you'd never stop watching." He murmurs, voice so rough and perfect with the steam and the strain of arousal. He looks me in the eye, and the pressure of those blue eyes goes right to my..._

Castiel squeezes his cock, eyes snapping shut as he comes over the inside of his slacks. He slumps back a little, not knowing when he'd bent over like that. He stuffs the papers into his bag a little shakily, knowing he should get to a washroom soon to collect himself and clean himself up. He still has the one paper, the wrong, obscene paper, in his hand, when he looks down at the field absently as he stands.

The players are gone, practice has ended and he really needs to sort himself out before class starts again.

"Hey Cas." He looks up to see Dean walking towards him down the bench, still shirtless and sweating.

He can feel the blush painting his cheeks, the cooling come on his underwear. He hates the universe right now, especially himself.

"Mr Winchester." He says stiffly.

Dean smiles and gestures at the papers in his hand, still breathless and painted with sweat from running on the field.

"Getting some work done out here? Not a great day for it." He says.

"No but...I felt I needed the air." Castiel says, feeling that it's suitably banal for small talk.

"Ahhh." Dean kicks at the wooden floor casually, one hand tapping absently at his bare stomach. "Anything good? We got the next Mark Twain around here?"

Castiel shakes his head, eager to be gone and not caring much for his duty as a teacher to not make light of his students achievements.

"Really? Gee, sucks to be you then." Dean cocks his head to one side. "If no one can write anything interesting. I expect you'd like something more stimulating to read...after a folder of twelfth grade reports."

Castiel looks him in the eye and catches Dean's smirk, the knowing tone in his voice.

And then he remembers that morning in the teachers' lounge, that Dean was sitting a few seats away and Castiel had put his stack of marking beside him for a moment as an excuse to talk to him, leaving it unattended for a moment while he fetched some coffee.

The story with no name attached. Had Dean...

Dean's smirk widens. "Anyway...expect you found practice pretty interesting...but I actually have to go shower so..." he tilts his head. "Unless you need to get cleaned up as well...Mr Novak..." and despite all biology his dick twitches at that, at his name and title in Dean's mouth. "Can get pretty exciting for spectators, I know."

Dean's look is part challenge, part baited tenseness, he's waiting to be rejected, for Castiel to walk away or misunderstand him or yell.

So when he nods and goes to follows him to the coach's private shower, Castiel gets to enjoy the slightly surprised look on Dean's face.

If anyone in his last period English class notices his wet hair and slight wince as he takes his seat, they say nothing.

He's never been so grateful for their lack of interest.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm impressionable and people need to stop asking me to write porn...I mean, I love it and all but...I have work to do _

If Castiel is nervous as he's backed into the shower stall, it's because there's a kind of vicious excitement on Dean's face that makes his stomach clench and his body flare hot despite its recent release. It's because Dean hasn't touched him, not while he walked behind him from the bleachers to his office, through that tiny paper choked room and into the coaches private shower stall. Dean hasn't laid a finger on him, and he's already come once by the brush of his own hand, not nearly enough to satisfy.

He's already read what's going to happen. Exactly what Dean is going to do.

He lets the stronger man shove him up against the wall of the shower with his presence alone, not yet manhandling him as Castiel wishes he would, to dissipate the tension and replace it with another kind of potency.

"Take your clothes off." Dean breathes, and Castiel's heart kicks painfully, groin stirring and skin crawling with anticipation. He wonders if this will kill him. Waiting.

He unbuttons his shirt, pulls it off and then pauses, there's nowhere to put it. Dean takes it from him and drops it outside of the cubical. There's a sense of locker room pranks about this, cruel laughter and humiliation waiting as other boys steal the clothing of their weakling peer and tear away with it, leaving him naked and shamed.

It's happened to him before, high school, the first time round.

It shouldn't bring another flush of blood to his cock, already shivering with over stimulation and need in its mess of cooling ejaculate. He shouldn't want Dean to use the power he evidently had in his own high school years, tormenter and victim from two different places, two different times.

He kicks off his shoes.

Dean is going to see, he realises, he'll see the damp evidence of what he had done. He'll know.

Another low pulse of blood, his hands shake and his cheeks flame as he touches the fastening of his pants, opening them and drawing them down his legs, pants and socks off in one awkward movement. His boxers are damp and Dean, his eyes already raking Castiel's body with proprietary expectation, light on the stain.

His face breaks with longing, calm, menacing arousal breached at last with open want.

"Fuck...oh _fuck..." _he pants and rubs a hand hard into his own crotch, easing the hard on he's been sporting since he saw Castiel's flushed face bent low over the paper he'd left for him, guessed at what the teacher was doing under the cover of his trench and lapful of papers.

Castiel is frozen for a second, then inches the boxers down, more out of shyness than seduction, uncovering the pale skin and dark hair there. Much of his spend has soaked the fabric, but some still clings to the head and shaft, wet and pearly still, newly shed come catching the dull light of the tiny space.

Castiel whimpers as Dean pushes him up against the cold tile, mouth sucking hard at the pulse in his neck, fingertips toying with the slick head of his cock, rubbing the traces of come into the flushed, sensitive skin. He hardens slightly under the rough treatment, moaning and happily, shamefully, going pliant under the force of Dean's body on his. Liquid heat fills his abdomen and groin, legs feeling weak and heart beating his ribcage like a frightened bird in a fist.

"You like that don't you?" Dean's voice sticks in his throat, the rough words connecting somewhere near the sensitive skin of Castiel's throat, other hand catching Castiel as he slides down the wall a little. He can only whimper in response, feeling Dean's calloused fingers roll the uncut skin that clothes his shaft, working the slickness of his come back into the flesh as it rises willingly, hardening under Dean's hand.

"Get on your knees, hands on the floor." Dean releases Castiel and nudges him gently to the floor. Castiel goes, bracing himself on the tile and listening to Dean rustle his own clothing off, tossing it out of the shower. Castiel can see Dean's feet lifting from the floor, one after the other, his underwear dropping down to puddle over his feet, damp patch visible on the crotch. Castiel shivers, and then the broad, warm body of Dean covers his own, hands meeting the floor on either side of Castiel's waist, soft skin of his abdomen rubbing down over Castiel's exposed buttocks, lips trailing his back afterwards as Dean rests his knees on the floor, nudging Castiel's legs open.

"Not one for the soft and gentle are you?" Dean asks, fingers already sliding between Castiel's buttocks, spreading and rubbing them before tracing the pucker there, teasing with a finger. Castiel groans impatiently and rocks down. "Take that as a no." Dean presses inwards and Castiel's moan shakes him to his bones, deep and rough with relief and frustration.

He gets up to three fingers without speaking again, Castiel rocking back with every thrust and whimpering, flexing and changing his angle to try and get Dean deeper. When Dean adds another finger he outright growls, "That's enough...that's...enough, Dean. I'm ready just...just please..." He pushes back with a jerk and rolls his hips when Dean crooks his fingers.

"I know what's coming..." Dean nips the soft flesh of his ass. "Trust me. You're not ready."

Castiel twists his neck a little, looking back at him.

"Really?" he pants, and he looks deliciously unravelled, sweating and lost, but tense with expectation.

"Promise." Dean scissors his fingers and Castiel inhales sharply. "You're going to feel this for days."

Castiel whimpers and lets his gaze fall back to the floor, legs hunkering lower, further apart. Dean's enjoying the submissive pose when Castiel speaks up again.

"I'd better."

After that it becomes less of a partnership, and more a competition.

Dean removes his fingers and rises a little, lining up and sinking into Castiel with a long moan and a grunt of satisfaction. Castiel keens alarmingly, backing up against Dean and trying to force him deeper, quicker.

"You..." Dean growls, picking up a rhythm that sends Castiel just a little lower, a little more spread for him on the tile. "...are a very bad teacher..." he grasps Castiel's cock, cutting off whatever angry defence he was about to utter, mangling it into an agreeable moan. Clearly he can say whatever he wants with Castiel like this, stuffed full and rubbing into his palm with desperate, quick little strokes. "jerking off over football practice?"

Castiel moans. Grinds into Dean's hand.

"Think I didn't see you...rubbing yourself, raw for me up there..." Dean's voice catches as Castiel clenches around him, he's already so close, so fucking close to blowing and he jerks Castiel quicker to compensate, relishing the wet, fleshy sound of his fist on Castiel's cock, foreskin and pre-come dragging under his hand and slicking back into place again with each pull.

"anyone could have seen you...what would you...have done then..." his eyes screw shut despite his efforts, one hand pulling Castiel's hips into place, giving him a better angle as he moves faster, harder, thumb swiping the head of Castiel's cock.

"caught all...covered in come...bad move, Mr Nov-ak...really.._.uh_..." Dean shudders and plunges hard into Castiel's bared body once more, coming inside of him with a groan, Castiel spends into Dean's fist at the sound of his name, already pulled taught and craving by the stream of filth falling from Dean's mouth. He whimpers and rocks back as he comes, feeling thick, wet heat inside of him, Dean still slightly hard and rucking into him as he comes down.

Clawing over their heads at the valve on the wall, Dean starts the steel shower head going, hot water falls on both of them, shocking and soothing in one moment. He pulls out of Castiel and turns him over, pulling him until his lax body straddles his lap. He kisses him, mouth deep and wet and loose. Feeling hot water streak the sweat from them, fingers wrapping in Castiel's wet hair.

Totally worth writing one, short, paper.

Castiel locks his legs around Dean's hips, tipping his head and body back to let the water pound the mess from his stomach.

"B plus." He manages, once he's gotten his breath back. Dean pinches his ass, Castiel squirms. "You need to work on your dirty talk...my fifth graders could do better." Castiel gives him the hawk eyed _do that again and get detention s_tare that works so well on said fifth graders. Even if the words had helped to get him off far harder than he'd thought possible, he wasn't going to admit it.

"I'll make it up to you, dinner, tonight – and then backseat of my car?" Dean scrubs a hand through Castiel's hair, mouth latching back onto the sensitive part of his neck. Castiel mewls, embarrassingly, and tweaks one of Dean's nipples in retaliation, earning himself a groan, half muffled by Dean's mouthful of jugular.

"Very high school." Castiel mutters, archly.

"You can't say no then, can you?" Dean rubs his back affectionately. "C'mon...I bet you've been waiting years for the high school date experience...you just scream 'picked last in gym'." Castiel stiffens at the insult. Dean notices and rolls his hips a little, rubbing their spent dicks together. "I'm not messing with you...been watching you for weeks, man, just give it a shot." He raises an eyebrow. "I'll even go down on you at the drive-in." He teases.

Castiel figures he could do worse for his midlife crisis.

Gabriel had after all decided to become a privateer.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, I'm meant to be working...but, car sex was calling, and I thought I round this up with a sliver of fluff and a sprinkle of plot with the porn._

Dean sat on the backseat of the impala, pants undone and hands around Castiel's waist.

Castiel, he is fully prepared to admit, has exceeded expectations. His pants are discarded on the floor, one arm around each headrest of the seats behind him, rocking back and forth with a soft, rhythmic '_oh-uh..._' each time he takes Dean in fully. His shirt unbuttoned all the way, revealing a good slice of pale skin, three large hickeys already placed on him, a ring of reddish bite mark around his left nipple. Dean grasps Cas's ass with both hands, hauling him just a little higher, pushing him down just a little harder.

"_God..._" Castiel lets the word out as two syllables, a lazy half stoned smile on his face, teeth nipping at his lower lip. Dean runs his knuckles up the spine of Castiel's cock and he whimpers. The older man's body bows and heaves as Dean seats himself inside him further, pushing as far as he can get. Dean lets his head fall forward, resting his forehead on Castiel's heaving chest.

"Oh my God." He smirks into the damp skin under his mouth, his words rumbling into Castiel's chest. "You...are just full of surprises."

Castiel lets out an almost pained "Ah...uh..." and rolls his hips down.

Their pace has been steady for half an hour and Castiel's thighs are burning with the effort, both of them almost exhausted with the effort of holding back, but enjoying the tight frustration of it. Dean jerks up fast, fist dragging down on Castiel, pumping quickly, and the smaller man tips over the edge, "Ohyesohyesohyes..." tripping from his mouth, throwing his head back and swallowing the words rough and breathy. Dean growls his own orgasm into Castiel's chest, lurching up and falling back, sated and sweating.

"Jesus Christ..." Dean's head falls back against the back seat. Castiel sags on top of him, smiles to himself as he rubs a hand down his chest, easing the strained muscles of his stomach. "Does this mean I'm paying for dinner?"

"Yup." Castiel dismounts with a grunt, slides across the seat, into his pants and out of the car in a fluid series of motions that speak of long practice with backseat screwing. Which piques Dean's interest.

"Great." Dean peels off the condom, flicks it out onto the ground in the parking lot and climbs out after it, yanking up his zipper. He'd parked just off the street from a nice Italian place, one of the venues he flags up for birthdays when Sam wants to take him somewhere nice. It's not so fancy that he feels self conscious, and serves a lot of starch and cheese and meat. Castiel follows him in and Dean orders a bottle of wine.

It occurs to them both that this is a normal, adult, date, about twenty minutes in, and Castiel freezes mid sentence, watching Dean watch him avidly as he tells a story about his third graders.

"This is a date." Castiel says, slowly.

"What? No it's..." Dean fumbles for comforting smart ass remark. "It's post-fuck dinner." He improvises. "Re-fueling."

Castiel narrows his eyes.

"You're taking me out on a date." He accuses.

"No I...kind of..." Dean fiddles with his wineglass. "You're funny...I thought you were just, you know, hot and...enamoured with my ass."

Castiel snorts.

"But you're funny and...hard to please, kind of crotchety." Dean looks Castiel over. "Maybe I wanted more than just shower based fun."

"Like vehicular based fun?" Castiel looks down at his menu. "Followed by pasta and..."

"and you coming home with me." Dean finishes, awkwardly. "Maybe a second date?" He adds hopefully.

Castiel considers this for a second.

"If the pasta's good...and I get to sleep on the left, no questions asked...and next time I pick the restaurant."

Dean looks like a teenager, puppyish excitement evident in his slow smile. He hasn't had this much fun for a while, most of the guys he...well, not dates but jumps with a combination of charm and tight jeans, tend not to be the dating sort. Which is fine by him, they're dull, jock types who love sports and beer and all the things Dean liked when he was nineteen.

Castiel, in all his ex-nerd and oddly experienced car sex having English teacher glory, is a new challenge.

And ok, so he's already planning on making him breakfast.

It's not like it's anything serious.


End file.
